The Midst of the Flood
by starchild9867
Summary: An AU in which Frodo dies and Sam is left to carry the Ring. Angst, character death, dark themes. Previously the Brink of Darkness
1. Where Has Hope Gone?

"'We teeter on the brink of darkness, you and I, alone in the midst of the flood.'" These are Legolas's words to Aragorn one night as they camp on the Field of Pelennor. Little does he know how true they will yet prove. An AU where Frodo succumbs in Mordor, leaving Sam alone to bear the Ring and brave Mordor alone. Character death, angst, dark themes.

---

Legolas leaned back against the sturdy linen wall of the tent. He gazed out at the battlefield and sighed deeply. He could see bonfires lit by the Rohirrhim all over the field as the stench of roasting, rancid flesh marred the cool night air. Mound had been raised all over the field to honor the dead.

Eomer had come into kinghood, while Theoden had fallen. To Legolas, this was a great blow. As he saw it, Theoden was experienced, thorough. Eomer had never been placed under pressure, at least not as much as that he would face in these times and it was still not clear how he would react. He had been raised as a warrior, and although he knew some strategy, thinking up orders was not his area of expertise; following them was.

And then there was the matter of Denethor. Gandalf had brought word of the Steward's passing, his madness, as the fights had died on the field and it was clear that the Men had won, at least for that day. Now Faramir was to assume the office of Steward. Yet would the Man even livve through the night?

They might have won the battle, yes. But with so many lives lost, how were they even to try to hold their ground against the majority of the Dark Lord' forces? For Legolas knew the grim, terrible truth: this had been the greatest force they coul muster. With the Dead gone, they had only around a thousand warriors. Even with theirking gone, the Nazgul remained a powerful force. Legolas was afraid. Yes, he was very afraid.

He smelled smoke from a pipe. He turned to see Aragorn slide down the side of the tent to sit next to him.

"The council is over." he told Legolas. Silence endured for a few more moments as Aragorn puffed. Suddenly, he sighed deeply and lowered his pipe.

"Did we ever really stand a chance, Legolas? We have sent two hobbits to their doom to destroy a ring. We have saved this city, yes; but now where are the men to defend us in the real battle?

"For, as you probably already know, this is not our great battle. Nay, we have not even enough men to hold this city for one night if a force half the size we just fought stormed it! And Saron has so many more at his command. Is all hope gone? Has it, as Eomer said, forsaken this land? Or has it forsaken all of Middle-Earth? Where has it gone?"

"Whether it has forsaken us or all of the land, Aragorn, the fact remains that it is gone. We teeter on the brink of darkness, you and I, alone in the midst of the flood. We never had much hope, even in the begining. And now that this is over, it has gone. Does it matter where hence it has fled? Nay. All that matters now is that we survive. If that is gone, nothing will linger. The world will fade and die, and evil will run rampant once more."

"But the Valar will not let-"

"The Valar...," Legolas sighed. "Sauron's master was one of the Valar. When he went evil, they did not destroy him, but locked him away. Why not have killed him? For, Aragorn, if we lay bare the facts, a servant of one of the Valar corrupted the Kings of your people and made them the Nazgul. This same servant of one of the Valar made my people dark, made them into Orcs. Every time I go into battle, Aragorn, I am facing one who could have been my kin. If the Valar had killed him, if they had not let their kindness get in the way, we would have more numbers than Sauron's army. We wouldn't need to fight."

"As true as that is, Legolas, it is but a fantasy."

"A fantasy that could have been reality. The Valar will not save us now."

"They might still."

"Nay, Aragorn. Can you not see?"

"Can you not see what is happening to you? You have already lost hope; would you also lose your beliefs, mellon?"

Legolas gave a small smile. "Hannon le, mellon-nin. Once more I have despaired. You have brought us here today and we have pulled through where it twas not thought possible. I have all faith in you."

"You are not giving yourself any credit."

"I deserve only the credit of a warrior; you were my captain. As you still are."

"Hannon le, Legolas. Hannon le."

"Mae govannen, Aragorn. Guide us well, mellon-nin."

_We shall need it..._

MORDOR

Frodo took another gulp of the water. He heard the swishing of the empty spaces in the bottle and felt a pang of guilt. Sam was sleeping, and he was supposed to be taking watch, not sneaking water. And yet, it was as though he couldn't help it. Every day the heat in the godforsaken land they had come to intensified. Sam claimed he felt no such change.

Frodo wiped the perspiration from his brow on the back of his dirty sleeve, the mithril chain mail scratching at his skin. He tried to look around for anything moving in the area, but his eyes drooped. He fought them open, blackness barely receeding from his vision. The rocks swam, the heat made his vision ripple.

He swayed and fell. The Ring probed his mind one final time. Frodo was pushed off the edge of the cliff into insanity.

Sam awoke to his master's laughter. He sat up and yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Squinting them against the sun, he asked, "Mr. Frodo...'bout what time is it, do you reckon?"

There was no answer, save a giggle, from his master.

Sam looked around for the dark-haired hobbit. He found him curled up next to a rock, in the fetal position. "Get on up, Mr. Frodo. It's time to be a-going, begging your pardon."

No answer but a spout of hysteric laughter.

Sam flipped Frodo toward him. He gasped and half-stumbled, half-ran away from him in shock. A laugh far, far too loud echoed from his mouth as tears ran down his face. He had an extremely high fever; his pupils were scarecly there.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped, and his pupils grew. His eyes widened and his breath came in gasps. "Water," he choked, "Water, water, water..."

Sam rushed to him, water bottle in hand, handing it to him. He drank deeply, and then gazed at Sam. "Who...who are you?" he coughed.

"It's me; it's your Sam..." Sam whispered.

"W-ho...I d-don't know...you...and they're coming for me...they're coming to save me..."

At the moment when he drew his last breath, he seemed to get a grip on his sanity. But just for a moment. Then the pupils shrunk once more, and he tried to lugh. But all that came out was a cough and a long, long sigh. Then nothing.

Sam carefully laid down Frodo on the ground next to the rock. Slowly, knowinghis duty, he emptied Mr. Frodo's pack, putting all the food and water in his own. All he wanted to do was turn back; but he couldn't.

He at last took the Ring, so carefully, from around Frodo's neck. He placed it round his own and took his last look at his master.

A wind blew through the canyon, touseling Frodo's black hair. His pale skin was streaked with dirt and tears. Sam reached down and closed his eyes in respect for his master. Now no more pools of blue looked up into the night blankly.

As he began to trudge on, tears ran, glinting gold in the sunlight, down his own dirt-streaked, road-weary face. To think of this, this bleak and dreary land of blackness and flames, was his Mr. Frodo's final resting place, was almost to much for him to handle. It knawed at him, ate him, dug sharp pricks into his tender heart. The Ring was heavy; but Sam would destroy it, if only for Frodo. If only to be able to say that he had avenged his master...that he had avenged his friend.

And as he adjusted his pack and trudged on toward Mount Doom, a small, emaciated figure followed, as silent and swift as a shadow, with a heart and an intention blacker than one.


	2. Contemplation Is For the Wise

"'We teeter on the brink of darkness, you and I, alone in the midst of the flood.'" These are Legolas's words to Aragorn one night as they camp on the Field of Pelennor. Little does he know how true they will yet prove. An AU where Frodo succumbs in Mordor, leaving Sam alone to bear the Ring and brave Mordor alone. Character death, angst, dark themes.

---

Pippin sighed, sitting next to Merry's sickbed. Aragorn had come up late last night and seen to him and Faramir, as well. Pippin knew that the Gondorian had awoken, but he was now sleeping peacefully again, his fever thankfully broken.

Legolas and Gimli had also visited the bedside, apparently just to say hello to Pippin. Both laughed and shook their heads when he asked them if they happened to have any food on them. But something wasn't right.

Pippin usually didn't catch much; nor, come to think of it, did he use his mind that much either. But, seeing as he was a hobbit, he supposed that was at least partially excusable. But now that Merry, his constant companion (and much of the time fellow troublemaker) was...unavailible, Pippin had had a lot of time to think. And he had caught many things that most people would not usually catch.

Legolas and Gimli's visit, for example. When they laughed, it didn't sound...true, as laughter should. Their minds were preoccpied. Pippin could say the say the same about his own mind's state. Thoughts of Frodo and Sam, or their quest, swarmed down on the minds of the Fellowship like the plague. And as much as Pippin tried to shake it, he felt the continuing feeling that something had gone desperately, desperately wrong.

And Pippin had sat and smoked and thought all night. He had thought of the Elves, of Men, of wizards and darkness. He had thought of the war coming, of what he had seen. How everyone acted as though the greatest battle had been fought. Pippin had heard Strider speaking to Gandalf and Gimli, speaking in Common for the Dwarf's sake; Strider believed that Sauron had even larger forces still at his command!

Remembering Strider's words sent chills down Pippin's spine. _Horrors worse than this earth has seen in the time of Men..._ What horror could be worse than the Oiliphaunts? The Nazgul?

Pippin didn't know.

But whatever it was, he knew he would not like it.

---

Aragorn sighed deeply as he stood outside on a balcony. He took a deep breath of night air, somehow heavey with death and despair. So many men lost...so much hope gone...

The city was filled with sobs as women lowly realized that their beloved, their husband, would not be coming back. Children hid under the covers as screams of despair filled the night, as horsemen rode through the streets with hooves as loud as thunder to small ears. Torches were hung by every doorstep, chrysanthemums scattered all through the streets, the flower of mourning.

Inside, weeping women would be rocking their baby to sleep. Mothers would be trying, between sobs, to explain that Father was not coming home.

Aragorn ran a hand through his already-touseled hair. He strode to the dge of the stone balcony and rested his elbows on it. Placing his chin in his hands, he sighed again and closed his eyes. A sound of singing drifted toward him from the streets.

Young boys, women, warriors, all were gathering in mourning. Aragorn opened his eyes as he heard an Eleven song fill the air as the song ended. Legolas was singing, a sad final tribute to the dead.

"A glaer oear an-neinor, da tuin, ai cirith.

A ber, saer eim dold, na cuil ah-cost.

Na aore cuil gel

Eim glior oear tuin

Ai baro-ed ah-gwanno-ed

An-tuin hain melo-ed ah-meleth.

Amrun bo, idoh-midh,

Minas Anor, glinno!

Baro-an tuin

Aiom garo-oear

An-le." 1

Even those who could not understand wept, wether for beauty, for love, for loss, or perhaps all three. And before Aragorn knew it himself, he felt a tear fall onto his finger. His heart, too, was singing a lament for those souls now with their fathers.

The singers were gone now, all inside their homes once more. They were probably boarding others from the lower levels whoose homes had been destroyed who did not go to the castle.

"Too much contemplation is not good for you, mellon." Gandalf's voice floated over his shoulder. Aragorn turned to see the wizard appraoching him. His white robes were clean once again, his staff gleaming. A breeze wafted through his thick strands of white hair.

"Yet there are times such as these when it is only the wise who can contemplate at all." Aragorn replied.

Gandalf chuckled. "Feeding yourself compliments, Estel?"

"Who else is there to do it if no one else will?"

"True enough, Estel. True enough indeed."

Gandalf and Aragorn became grim as they looked out once more over Gondor. "Half the city destoryed, two-thirds of your men dead, and the majority of Sauron's forces fresh and ready to battle? You have on your hands what you had when you started. Those too old or too young. Those too kind or too mean. Those too weak or those too strong. Some will listen to well to orders and not think for themselves; others will not heed orders at all. They are even more frightened than at the begininng, and they are turning to you for answers. What say you now, King of Gondor?"

But Aragorn shook his head and turned away in response. "I be not King yet, Mithrandir. I can only hope that I shall come into my own before I die."

"Hope is you name, Aragorn."

"Perhaps; but what does my name matter if it is not true?"

"Hope will not desert us."

"It is gone."

"Nay, it is not gone; only in hiding."

"If that is so, then why has it not come out?"

"No one is looking for it."

"Yes, no one is looking; but many are calling from want of it."

"It finds those who look; those who sit and dream of days of peace will be destroyed."

"Destroyed?"

"Denethor, for example. His city, which he had been charged to take care of, was left to rot for all he cuold care; once Boromir was gone, his life mattered not to him, nor did any others. He sat, day by day, and gazed into an object which was corrupted. It, in turn, corrupted him. It drove him to insanity, Aragorn; thus, his death came about. Not by his own thoughts, nay, but thoughts which the Dark Lord had planted since Boromir left."

"But Denethor...Denethor was driven mad by the loss of his son, was he not?"

"Which son? The loss of Boromir awakened a deep, heavy grievance; truly, when he felt he had lost his last son, when he felt his line ended, he was pushed off the fine line of sanity."

"I see."

"Estel, you should sleep. I am going to retire now; there are guards. In the morning we shall gather and council once more."

"Aye, Gandalf. Goodnight, mellon-nin."

"Queldu, Estel. Tenna' tul're, quel kaima." (goodnight, hope. until then, sleep well.)

Gandalf left, closing the door to Aragorn's rooms behind him.

Aragorn looked out of the window facing the battlefield. Looking down, he saw the marble courtyard. Legolas sat underneath the White Tree. He was singing. Aragorn opened the window and laid down in bed.

_"A Elbereth Gilthoniel  
Silivren penna miriel  
O menel aglar elenath!  
Na-chaered palan-diriel  
O galadhremmin ennorath  
Fanuilos, le linnathon  
Nef aear, si nef aearon!"_

-----


	3. Aduial, A Child

Aragorn opened his eyes slowly. Weak sunlight was struggling in through the windows, laying fields of shadows upon the stone arches. He sat, rubbing his eyes, and yawned quietly. He stood, pulled on his chain mail, hauberk, and tunic. He clapsed Anduril's sheath around his waist, and then slid the mighty Elvish blade into the cool leather once more.

_Perhaps it does belong in the leather. If mine acestor had not been so weak, this burden would never have come to be Frodo's. I would have my throne, my father, and my life. And yet, from the doubts and weaknesses of Men, I am forced to fight a hopeless war...and perhaps Narsil would never have become Anduril, and the shards of Isildur's sword would lay upon their dais in the Halls of Kings. And yet it is not so. The just contine to suffer as evil continues to prevail, and will triumph as all hope is lost..._

He recalled Gandalf's words.

_"Hope will not desert us."_

_"It is gone."_

_"Nay, it is not gone; only in hiding."_

_"If that is so, then why has it not come out?"_

_"No one is looking for it."_

_"Yes, no one is looking; but many are calling from want of it."_

_"It finds those who look; those who sit and dream of days of peace will be destroyed."_

He ws not so sure that he believed the wizard's words. For where would one, in this world, this time, look for hope? Where would hope, if it had indeed remained, hide? Certainly not within any one person; that would be too obvious. Perhaps within an object? A dream? Where would he find enough lost hope for a nation? He was doomed to fail at all endeavors, it seemed. Despair was seeping from cracks, from rain, from plants, from men and women alike. Where would he find hope in a desolate city?

His feet had carried him to the lower levels of the city. Nothing was moving. No one was in sight. Houses were in ashes. Stones were cracked, dried blood rivers glistening like ruby on the ground beneath his feet. He heard a shuffling noise to one side, inside a still-standing, charred house. Drawing Anduril out of the leather sheath, he crept closer, alert. He entered the dark house, eyes quickly adjusting, darting every which way. A flash of movement in the corner. He spun around, sword raised, ready to smite his foe -

Who was but a tiny child, arms above her head, cowering in a dark corner. With a half-relieved, half-exasperated sigh, he lowered Anduril and sheathed it once more. He knelt next to the child, who was trembling something terrible. "What is your name?" he said softly. She looked at him with big silver eyes, shining out of her soot covered face.

"My da was a scholar. He study the Elfs. He spoke it...and he named me Aduial. Evening." Her voice was quiet and sweet, soft when she spoke of her father. Aragorn was surprised. Not many Men were scholars of Elves.

"How much do you know about the Elves, Aduial?" he asked.

"Lle naa belegothar, Aragorn-Heru en amin. Uuma dela; amin naa tualle." (You are a mighty warrior, My Lord Aragorn. Don't worry; I am your servant.)

Aragorn blinked. "Quena il'ambe tel' Eldalie? Sut"

"Khila amin. I talk Elfish better'n Common...okay?" (Follow me)

He could only nod.

They tread lightly upon the stairs, journeying upwards until the reached a blank stretch of wall. She held out a tiny fist and said in a commanding voice, "Elea i'dolen irma haeolann!" (Reveal dimension door!)

A white glimmering door appeared in the blank dull stretch of wall. Aragorn blinked. How much power was contained in this child, who could summon up a dimensional portal at her whim? She opened it and stepped inside, motioning for Aragorn to follow.

"This where _Ada_ would come to study. He bring me here when _yrch_ come to burn and kill. He stay...he die." She sniffed quietly and rubbed her eyes furiously. " But I safe from nasty _yrch_ in my _Ada's_ room. And when I come out...he dead." She wailed once more and Aragorn scooped her into his arms. He held her close, eyes wide as he took in the milllions and millions of books.

"How old are you, aire?" (short one)

She sniffled and held up five fingers. "_Ada_ only spoke Elvish. I no go outisde with other childs."

Aragorn felt a pang of - sorrow? sympathy? - for this little child. Her whole existance was her books and her father. And now only her books remained. He left the room and shut the door behind him. It wavered and vanished. He carried Aduial gently down the stairs. Assuming she was asleep, he began to leave. She squirmed and said, "Amin caela noa." (I have an idea.)

"Yes, Aduial?"

He set her down and she darted to another room downstais. He followed at a slower pace to find a charred, blackened room. The bed was simple, yet obviously for a child. She knelt by it and rummaged underneath it. "Amin utue ta!" she cried. (I found it!) She pulled out a black book with silver letterings. They were ancient runes. She opened it.

"Aa menlae nauva calen ar' ta hwesta e' ale' quenlae,

Aa menealle nauva calen ar' malta,

Lissenen ar' maska'lailath tenna 'lye omentuva,

Tenna' tul're, a'maelamin, aratoamin, melamin...Ada..."

(May thy paths be green and the breeze on thy back,

May thy paths be green and golden,

Sweet water and light laught 'til we next meet,

Until tommorow, my beloved, my champion, my love...Father...)

The book glowed once, brightly, and then burst into flames. Aragorn could only stare in shock as Aduial set the flaming book upon the ground, tok his hand, and led him out of the house. She kneeled in front of it, and whispered, so lightly that Aragorn could barely hear it, "Namaarie, lirimaer. Amin mela lle..." (Farewell, loyal one. I love you...) And then she whispered one of the thirteen words of destruction that only those with the greatest minds know. "Gorgamin..." The house shuddered, swayed, and collapsed into fine, fine dust. She stood and turned to Aragorn.

"Mankoi laa lle soma?" (Why are you here?"

"Mankoi lle uma tanya?" (Why did you do that?)

Her beautiful silver eyes grew distant and cold as she looked at him. No respect for him was there any longer. "Kela, taraer Aragorn. Tenna ento lye menta." (Go away, lofty one Aragorn. Until we next meet.) She bowed to him and turned away. She stumbled as she started away from him, and his heart broke out in compassion and empathy. This child had just lost her everything. She was different and had nowehere to go. Even as he was, a warrior, what right did he have to question her? He dashed up behind her and scooped her up in his arms. She looked shocked.

"Amin hiraetha, Aduial. Lle anta kaim. Lle merna aught?" (I'm sorry, Aduial. You must sleep. Shall we go?) She gave a small smile and curled up in his arms. Slowly she drifted into slumber.

A/N Aduial plays a very important part later in this story, so this chapter IS NOT POINTLESS.


End file.
